


The Last Day of the Lost Season

by themantlingdark



Series: Mistakes and Accidents [3]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 18:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16897713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themantlingdark/pseuds/themantlingdark
Summary: please don't comment or repost.





	The Last Day of the Lost Season

At first, Loki can't understand how his brother can bear to lead such an isolated life. Thor was always the social one. This quiet home in the middle of nowhere is a bit baffling to Loki.

They hang out with Sif, Hogun, Fandral, and Volstagg almost weekly when the weather is good, but Loki knows Thor needs more.

Thor makes a sculpture that's just a bit too big for him to lift on his own, but with his brother's help it's manageable, so Loki goes with him to deliver the piece to Thor's patron.

Loki doesn't mind coming along, since he can write with his laptop on his knees in the passenger seat, and he gets to hear his brother humming along to music as they cruise down the highway.

Loki followed Thor's lead and dressed quite nicely, despite the heavy lifting they'd be doing. Thor always dresses up when he's delivering an order. Loki learns why when they arrive.

Thor's customers are quite fond of him. A dinner invitation is extended and acceptance is insisted upon.

The eccentric older gentlemen who commissioned the piece is good company. Loki doesn't have to pretend to be enjoying himself – it's happening all on its own.

When it gets late, their host offers them beds or coffee.

They take the latter, offer their thanks, and say their goodnights.

“Is it always like that?” Loki asks, staring out the window at the grinning crescent moon.

“It's always good,” Thor says, smiling.

Loki nods.

Their second summer together is the stuff Loki's teenage dreams were made of. It's just him and Thor all day and all night. They work from nine to five and afterward there are still hours of sunlight left for them to enjoy.

Some evenings they walk to the tiny creek that forms the property line at the back of Thor's yard and they go skinny dipping. Their neighbors are all middle-aged farmers who go to bed early, so no one will barge in and spoil their fun.

It's the golden hour, and the light from the low sun comes sideways through the reeds, striping their skin orange and black like a pair of tigers. Their eyes glow as if lit from within. Thor wouldn't argue otherwise.

On hot nights they drive to the lake across from their parents' house and swim to cool off. It's spring-fed, and the water is cold and clean.

Loki had always feared that he'd grow to hate the lake. But it looks so different in summer. The white plain that it was that awful winter is like a bad dream. Unreal, somehow. He can't pinpoint the place from which he attempted to end his life.

It was such a strange thing to realize.

When he and Thor went swimming that first summer after his suicide attempt, he searched from every angle, doing laps across and around the lake, looking for landmarks.

But he couldn't be certain where he had stood.

A detail of one of the defining moments of his existence, lost.

Loki thinks of quantum mechanics. Heisenberg.

He knows everything else about that night. Perhaps that means the precise coordinates are an impossibility.

Somehow, the earth forgets autumn. The leaves fall on top of snow. No gentle fading, with reds and oranges flickering over the foliage like embers; just summer to winter.

Selkie dies in her sleep at the end of October. Puca stops eating and has to be put down less than a week later.

Frigga swears up and down that that's the end of it. No more horses. No more pets. No more pain like this. She loved those pretty beasts for over half her life.

Loki knows she's lying about this being the end, but he suspects it will be at least a year before she's on petfinder looking for creatures in need of a good home.

Thor shows up in his parents' kitchen in the middle of November with pillow creases on his face. Frigga is sitting at the table with her coffee. Thor's mouth falls open and his cheeks go red.

“You came to feed the horses, didn't you?" she laughs, gently.

Thor's forehead crumples and he nods.

“I must be losing my mind,” Thor chokes, joining her at the table and dripping tears onto his sweatshirt.

“Old habits die hard,” Frigga sighs. “Grampy used to make two pieces of toast every morning. One for himself, and one for Jasper.”

Jasper was their grandfather's mutt, a spaniel border collie mix who, even in his old age, put up with all the twins' questionable affections without so much as a curl of his lip.

“He did it the day after Jasper died,” Frigga continues. “And then on and off for at least a month. Every once in a while he'd call me up and confess that he'd just made toast for Jasper,” Frigga laughs, weeping. “He was still doing it in the last year of his life.”

Thor smiles wetly and wipes his eyes, sinking back in his chair and staring at the ceiling.

His grandmother once told him, years after her husband died, that she would still roll over in her sleep to put her arm around him, only to fall flat on her face on his half of the mattress.

Thor loves the thought of his petite grandmother being the big spoon. He focuses on that. The rest is beyond bearing.

Loki won't allow running when the roads are so treacherous, so they switch to light aerobics and lots of weight work in the basement. Sometimes Thor can hear Loki jumping rope in the attic. The peak in the center of the ceiling is high enough that it won't interfere with his swinging and twirling.

They stay fit, but it isn't the same.

Running lasted at least an hour. Sometimes two. Loki's thoughts had time to crystallize and shatter, leaving his head blissfully empty while his limbs grew gloriously wasted.

Without it, he lies awake while his mind sifts through his thoughts. His body isn't tired enough to cut him off.

Thor is working on several commissions. They require a lot of welding and heavy lifting, so he's getting a workout all day. He sleeps well without the aid of exercise.

The false winter deepens.

Sparkling snow blankets everything. By sunlight, the world is shimmering white.

At night it's shrouded.

There's a foot of snow on the ground at Thanksgiving.

Some nights Loki knows sleep won't come at all, so he leaves his brother behind, wrapped in dreams and fleece, and slips downstairs to stare out the back window.

The house is silent. The clock in the kitchen has no second hand, so it doesn't tick. At most, Loki will hear Snape's feet on the stairs or the wind at the door.

The sky is most often overcast or full of heavy clouds. No stars to cheer the view. No moon. Just the hint of it sometimes – a glowing bit of haze - but no silhouette.

Abe is in an infant's playpen with a sheet of vinyl beneath it at the back of the dining room. There's a blanket draped over it to keep out any drafts.

Loki knows the chicken coop is warm enough, but he doesn't care. The house is warmer. And closer. And it makes the cat happy to have his friend under this roof.

Snape has grown fond the turkey, who tolerates the cat's attentions, and occasionally even returns them, preening Snape's head.

Sometimes Loki will go to stroke the bird's breast and find it wet from the cat's kisses. At first he was worried, but then he looked at them. Abe is at least two times Snape's size and significantly stronger. Loki realized it's not the bird he should be worried about. But Abe is so good-natured he doesn't have to worry about the cat's safety either.

Loki is glad he and his brother grew up with a barn and big messy horses. Thor isn't fussy. And the turkey seems almost tidy after mucking out stalls for nearly twenty years. Thor's only requirement is that Abe has to sit on a very thick towel when he joins them on the couch. Loki was going to do that anyway.

On December ninth, Loki falls asleep easily enough, but wakes to silence in the middle of the night.

He can't hear Thor breathing, and wonders if Thor got up to pee, but when he turns his head his brother is beside him.

Loki is on Thor in a heartbeat, calling his name and shaking him.

Thor startles and blinks.

“What's the matter?” Thor gasps.

His voice is breathy, rough, and bewildered.

Loki kisses his brother deeply and pants, “I love you so much.”

“Love you, too,” Thor murmurs, scooping Loki closer.

They fall asleep in a sweaty tangle.

Loki can feel his brother's breath against his lips. It lets him sleep.

Thor's most urgent commission needs to be finished before Christmas, so he's working on it almost constantly. His deadline is close, and the piece is intricate.

Thor wakes alone in the middle of the night in late December and the familiarity sets off an awful flashback. His pulse skyrockets and he breaks out in a cold sweat. He sprints through the house as softly as he can, not wanting to startle the bird that's sleeping downstairs. He checks the bath and the guestroom, but they're empty, so he heads up to the attic.

Loki's bed is made and the windows are closed.

Thor all but flies down to the ground floor and finds his brother asleep on the couch with the cat in his lap.

Loki wakes at seven to the sound of Thor pouring food into Abe's dish and opening the pen.

Snape leaps off Loki's lap and cries for his own breakfast until it rattles into his bowl.

And then Thor is perched on the edge of the couch.

His eyes are red and there's a deep crease between his eyebrows.

“What's going on?” Thor says.

And Loki wants to squirm away. Because he hates this. Hates his brain. Hates himself. Because he hurts Thor just by existing - by being who is. He feels so useless. Always a burden.

“Insomnia,” Loki says.

“How long?”

“Almost two months now,” Loki admits.

“Were you ever going to mention it?"

“I don't like making you worry.”

“I worry anyway,” Thor sighs. “At least let me know why I'm doing it.”

Loki nods and plays with the hem of Thor's tee shirt, feeling the warmth of Thor's skin lingering in the cotton.

“Can we talk about it when you get back?” Loki asks, softly. “I don't want my mess in your head while you're driving.”

“All right,” Thor says, frowning. “But you call Sif or a hotline if you need to, promise?”

“I know,” Loki nods. “I remember.”

Thor loaded the truck last night. Today he's driving the piece to Chicago. December twenty-second was the only day that worked for delivery from the client's side. The sculpture is a gift, and the patron's husband has to work today, but she's off for the week, so she has time to hide the surprise - it's light enough for her to lift on her own.

Thor fixes his hair, kisses his brother goodbye, pats Loki's butt, and then he's gone.

Loki is on his laptop all morning, organizing his thoughts. He wants everything available to Thor in coherent English in case he can't get the words out of his mouth.

At noon he looks at a map, wondering where his brother might be. He knows Thor isn't likely to arrive in Chicago before two pm, but he isn't certain what city that would put his brother in right now.

Loki never figures it out; the radar distracts him.

There's a storm system swirling over Wisconsin and dragging its tail across Illinois.

Loki checks the weather forecasts along Thor's route. It's an ice storm. The rain is freezing as it hits the chilly surfaces, glazing them.

It will be beautiful. Everything will sparkle and shine like it's made of crystal.

And the ground and streets will be as slippery as a skating rink.

Loki wants to text his brother and tell him to get a hotel room, but he hates texting Thor when he knows Thor is driving. He doesn't want the chime of the notification to distract his brother. Doesn't want to be the source of an accident. He can't send an email, either, because Thor gets notifications for those, too.

Loki tells himself his brother isn't an idiot; Thor will do something sensible.

Lately, being nervous makes Loki crave buttery sweets.

He bakes cornbread.

He has to do it from scratch: he read the label on the box of Jiffy mix and it had lard in it, which broke his heart a bit because it was his favorite. He used to help his grandmother when she'd make it, setting the ruffled paper liners in the muffin pan and finding the measuring cups she requested. Years later he realized that whenever she had asked for his help in the kitchen, she'd been slyly teaching him about fractions.

Cooking distracts Loki, which is welcome. Washing the dishes while the bread bakes is another mindless time-killer, and Loki is grateful for it.

Snape and Abe wait at Loki's heels as he slices the cornbread like a pizza in the low cast iron skillet. He pinches off a couple pieces and puts them in the pets' bowls, then watches as they devour their treat.

When they're finished, the fluffy gluttons flank him where he sits at the table. They wait to see whether he'll part with more.

And of course he will.

He helps himself to a second slice and the crumbly bits at the tip are placed in the waiting bowls.

Loki can't help laughing as he watches his little friends eating. You'd think they'd gone a week without food, the way they gobble it up.

He wraps the pan in foil to remind himself not to eat the whole thing.

He tries to work on his latest novel. The plotting is done, and that's always the worst part. But he still can't bring himself to focus. He keeps staring out the window at the grey sky. Wondering where the sun is. Where his brother is. Whether Thor will be mad at him once he's made his latest confession.

He wishes his brain could linger on lovely things instead of getting waylaid by heartache again and again. He feels like he should have built up some immunity to misery by now, forcing his brain to stray into pleasure out of necessity - Loki is fairly certain his mind has left no unhappy stone unturned.

But still it hurts, and he watches the trees blur with his tears.

The days are nearly as bleak as the nights now.

It's more frightening to have these thoughts haunting him between dawn and dusk. Like seeing the monster under the bed. Nightmares made flesh.

A week ago it was so cold outside Loki's eyelashes froze together as he ran from the back door to the pole barn to visit his brother, missing Thor and wanting to kiss him.

Highs have been in the teens. Lows below zero. Loki is afraid all the wild things that couldn't flee to the south will freeze to death. That the woodchucks with their burrow beneath the fallen tree trunk won't come out of the ground in the spring. That there won't be any doves or cardinals left in the trees. That the fox won't dance across the back yard at dusk like a little red ghost, side-eying the silly men who sit cross-legged on the lawn, sipping cocktails and staring at him.

And now Loki is afraid there won't even be men. That winter is taking his brother from him, too.

He's making the cat nervous. Snape keeps getting in Loki's lap and head-butting his belly.

Loki takes a shaky breath and pets his furry black savior until they both feel better.

He decides to clean the chicken coop before the hens settle in for the night. He wraps Abe in a blanket and brings him along to visit his tiny girlfriends. They're always a bit bolder when the turkey is there, and it makes Loki giggle because it looks like they're showing off and flirting. They might be.

At seven, he gives all the critters their dinners. He knows he should make his own, but he wants to wait for his brother. And if his brother doesn't come then dinner doesn't matter.

He takes a hot shower to relax his shoulders and hopes that Thor will make an appearance, slipping in beside him and wrapping him up in those wonderful arms.

He waits until the water runs cold.

He puts on his pajamas and heads downstairs to have another slice of cornbread, splitting it with his companions again, certain there will be spiteful hairballs and outraged squawking if he neglects to share.

He carries Abe upstairs, lays a heavy towel over the chair in Thor's room, sets the turkey on it, and then climbs into Thor's bed.

He stares at the bird, waiting to find out if Abe feels safe enough to sleep in the strange place.

After two minutes, he sees the feathers fluff out as Abe leans back into himself. Then the pale eyelids slide up.

Abe's eyes open again when Snape comes in and makes a little purring chirp.

Normally, Snape will sleep with the twins, at the foot of the bed, but Loki sees him eying the empty half of the chair.

Abe flinches slightly when Snape alights beside him, but he doesn't bother getting up. Loki keeps watching.

Snape settles in to sleep.

“Snape, you little shit,” Loki huffs, laughing softly.

But Abe doesn't care, and within another minute he's sleeping again, too.

Loki checks his phone for messages in case he missed them while he was carting Abe up the steps, but there's nothing.

It's ten o'clock.

If Thor was hauling ass and road conditions were good, the driving couldn't take less than twelve hours. And then you have to add time for filling the gas tank and dropping off the artwork. Eight thirty would have been the earliest Thor could have been back.

But conditions are bad. And no one ever lets Thor go without chatting for at least fifteen minutes. Usually more.

Loki hopes his brother is asleep in a hotel bed.

That the battery on his phone is dead, so he can't call.

That he got held up having dinner with another happy customer. That he was sitting there for hours petting a golden retriever and talking to a lovely woman who is, most likely, doomed to be a little bit in love with Thor for the rest of her life now.

No cops or hospitals have called. Loki takes that as a good sign.

Loki steals Thor's emergency-sketchbook and mechanical pencil from the bedside drawer.

He draws Snape and Abe as they sleep.

He checks the weather on his phone. The storm is fizzling out, but the ice isn't likely to melt any time soon - temperatures are in the low teens across the Midwest.

He draws his feet.

Draws Thor from memory.

Draws the rumpled sheets.

Rumples them differently and draws them again.

Turns out the light and waits for his eyes to adjust, then tries to see if his roommates are still on good terms. All he can make out is a big dark lump on the chair. He can't hear feathers ruffling, so he settles in to stare at the ceiling and listen for the roar of tires on the road.

He misses it, but Snape doesn't: at three am, Loki hears the cat's feet hit the floor and a quiet protest from Abe, whose right side no longer has a toasty little feline leaned up against it.

Then Loki hears the car door shutting.

He leaves the light off and follows the cat.

Thor is out of his coat and boots and is washing his hands at the sink.

“Where's Abe?” Thor asks, noticing the playpen is empty.

“In your room. He and Snape were snuggling.”

Thor snorts and scoops up the cat, burying his cold nose in warm fur.

“Snape, you smell like a turkey,” Thor notes, and sets the fluffy weirdo back on the floor.

Loki has his arms around Thor's waist and his face in Thor's neck as soon as Thor has straightened.

“Were the roads bad?” Loki asks.

“Yeah. I ended up driving south to go around the storm. That's why it took forever.”

“Why didn't you call?”

“I know - I'm sorry. My battery was low and I needed the phone for directions.”

“Why didn't you just get a hotel room?”

Thor leans his head back and looks at Loki like he's just said something stupid.

“What?” Loki asks.

“Baby, it's the twenty-third. I wasn't going to leave you alone tonight.”

Twelve years. To the hour. Loki can't believe it's already been that long. He wonders what the lake looks like at this moment. If he'd be able to find the spot now that the ice is thick enough to walk across.

“Do you want dinner?” Loki murmurs.

“Can I steal some cornbread?”

“Mmmhmm.”

Thor has a slice and asks Loki to wait up for him while he showers.

Thor comes back down in a blue tee shirt and grey flannel bottoms in faded plaid. Loki is in black thermal bottoms and a giant green hoodie he stole from his brother as soon as it came out of the dryer. Thor only wore it in the store when he tried it on to make sure it would fit around his arms. It makes Loki look like a boy again, the way it hangs from his slim form, and Thor likes it better on his brother than he does on himself, so he hasn't bothered stealing it back.

Thor leads Loki down to the basement and they curl up on the old leather couch together, lying on their sides with their noses touching.

“So, insomnia,” Thor says.

“Yeah,” Loki sighs. “Lately it takes me two or three hours to get to sleep, and then I wake up sooner than I want to. Or I fall straight to sleep, but then I wake up a couple hours later and can't get back to sleep.”

Thor nods.

“Is it because you're not running?”

“I'm sure that's part of it,” Loki sighs.

“What's the rest?”

“The horses,” Loki whispers, and Thor squeezes him. “Not that they died, but how. Puca-”

Loki chokes and then quakes with sobs. He can feel Thor trembling against him.

“Suicide,” Thor says, and Loki nods. “So it's been in your head again.”

“Every night,” Loki admits, and feels Thor's whole body go tense. “It's different now, though.”

But Thor is bawling and Loki knows anything he says will be lost on his brother, so he holds him and pets him and waits for him to calm.

“It's not the same,” Loki soothes, stroking Thor's damp hair.

“You're supposed to tell me these things,” Thor scolds, wetly.

“I'm still afraid I'll scare you away... or infect you somehow.”

“That's not how this works.”

“This is something new,” Loki warns.

“How?”

“It's a hypothetical thing,” Loki says. “But I think Puca might have proved it.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don't want to kill myself,” Loki says firmly, and Thor's face warps, relieved and confused. “I lie there in bed and I listen to you breathing-” Loki's voice breaks and he shakes his head at himself as his face crumples. “But my stupid brain... always a sucker for binaries. So I think of you-”

“Not breathing,” Thor finishes. “Jesus, Loki,” Thor murmurs, and strokes his brother's spine.

“I get up and wander around so I don't wake you up with all my squirming. And then I stare out the window... and everything is dead outside - even the sun. I swear. This fucking winter...”

“I know,” Thor nods. “It's been awful. I've been peeing in the sink in my studio because I don't want to walk to the house.”

Loki shakes with a shock of laughter and then hums as he collects his thoughts.

“When we first started this, I thought it was something set and full. Finished, in a way, or perfected. But these last two years...” Loki shakes his head, slowly, eyes wide and unfocused with disbelief. “Every day I love you more. Every day that passes is one more day that your patience with me has lasted... So it's like you get bigger. And then I love you more to make up the gap.”

Thor is still leaking a constant stream of tears, but he isn't convulsing with them, so Loki continues.

“And it makes it even worse, because every day I have more to lose. I can't stand thinking about it, but I can't stop. I can't sleep, and you're lying there looking dead - sometimes sounding dead - and I can't get away from it. I don't want to have to live without you. I don't think I can do it.”

Thor nods and squeezes his brother tight, peppering Loki's cheek with kisses and burying his nose in the hair behind Loki's ear.

“And then I thought I'd distract myself with movies,” Loki says, huffing at himself. “So, a few weeks ago, when I couldn't sleep, I came down here and watched Moulin Rouge,” Loki says, and Thor groans. “And I cried for over an hour afterward. Like, really fucked up hopeless crazy sobbing,” Loki laughs. “So, now I don't ever want to watch that again.”

“I know,” Thor croaks, voice thick and broken. “I watched The Fountain last year. You weren't here... I think you were out doing something with Mom... Anyway, I lost my shit. Completely. Threw up. Cried like a baby. I still feel sick to my stomach just thinking about it.”

Loki hums a sympathetic sound and mouths Thor's neck until Thor sighs and leans back so that they're nose to nose again.

“You're not the only one worried about being left behind,” Thor says. “You just have more time to worry about it because you can't sleep.”

Loki nods.

“I'm always hoping that we'll live long healthy lives and then die in our sleep at exactly the same time,” Thor admits. “But I'm still scared that one or both of us will get sick or get hurt. Or worse.”

“How can you stand it?” Loki asks.

“I don't dwell on it. We're both young and healthy. We can't afford to waste our best years worrying about things we can't control. All we can do is take care of ourselves and be careful. We'll deal with obstacles if or when they arise, 'kay?”

Loki nods and they huddle close together, absentmindedly stroking each other with their fingers and toes.

“So, you think about dying, too, then,” Loki whispers, and he sounds almost relieved.

“Yeah,” Thor nods, and kisses Loki's lips.

“Suicide?” Loki asks.

“Yep,” Thor sighs. “Not as something I want to do, but as something I hope I never have to do.”

“Exactly,” Loki nods, and kisses Thor's damp cheeks. “Is this winter making it harder for you, too?”

“Not this winter, but this day does it to me every year,” Thor murmurs. “If you'd made it through the ice, I think I would have followed you.”

Loki breathes a tiny, terrified apology.

“It's not your fault,” Thor soothes, and strokes Loki's arm as he sifts through his memories, searching for the things that set him off. “Seeing a dead mourning dove always scares me, because its mate is usually nearby waiting for it... for days... weeks, sometimes. It kills me. It's sohopeless. I wish I could call a hawk to come for it.”

Thor sniffles a bit before taking a stuttering breath and starting again.

“Seeing widows and widowers at the farmers market is hard... I can never decide if they're strong and wise, or callous and false... and then I feel like an asshole for thinking that way about total strangers who've been through some heavy shit... but, still... I don't know how they go on living.”

“I don't know either,” Loki whispers, and hugs his brother tight.

Thor takes a deep breath and lets it out as slowly as he can.

“Come on,” Thor says, with a pat to Loki's backside. “Let's see if we can get you some sleep.”

“Can we kiss for a while first?” Loki says, softly. “We haven't had sex in a week.”

“Jesus, has it been that long?”

Loki nods.

“Fuck, baby, I'm sorry,” Thor groans, and he looks like he's going to cry again so Loki ducks in and nips Thor's ear to distract him.

“It's not your fault. You've been busy.”

“It shouldn't come at your expense,” Thor says, and runs a line of kisses along Loki's jaw before he nudges Loki off the couch and leads him up the stairs.

“Abe's asleep, so we have to be quiet and leave the lights off in your room,” Loki warns.

“We could sleep in your room,” Thor notes.

“I want to be able to hear Abe in case he forgets where he is and freaks out.”

Thor snorts and pinches Loki's butt as they stumble blindly into the dark bedroom.

For a while they just lie there with the blankets pulled over their heads, snuggling and squeezing each other as they wait for the bed to grow warm around them.

Then they trade soft boyish kisses from within the cotton cocoon. Little presses of lips that smack and pop wetly against jaws and cheeks.

The dark makes them cautious. Slows their movements as they seek each other, not wanting any high speed collisions with the more delicate aspects of their anatomy to occur. They both love the way it renders their lovemaking even more tender, which is quite a feat, as they're always gentle with each other. Relentless, sometimes, but never rough. No one would ever guess it to look at them. Loki's public persona is interpreted as kinky-virgin-on-his-way-to-a-charming-spinsterhood, while everyone assumes Thor uses those arms of his to drag his partners up and down his dick like oversized fleshlights.

But they couldn't be more wrong.

It's all carefully questing hands and breathless tugs of lips. Tangled legs and softly pumping hips.

“I want you in my mouth,” Thor pants, breaking their kiss and kneading the meat of Loki's ass with his hand down the back of his brother's long johns.

“I want you in mine, too.” Loki breathes. “Can you fuck my face and then suck my cock?”

Thor hums and nods rapidly against Loki's neck.

They struggle out of their clothes and tug the blankets loose.

Loki scoots down the bed so Thor can hover over him with his hips above Loki's head.

Loki girdles Thor's pelvis with long fingers and guides his brother's thrusts, setting the speed and depth. He feels every vein and fold of skin sliding through his lips as Thor's balls bump his chin.

Thor is already starting to whimper. His hips want to delve deeper. Loki moans around his mouthful of cock and pulls Thor's hips home, taking his brother in to the hilt. Thor groans, spurting hot jets of semen onto Loki's waiting tongue.

And then Thor is slithering down Loki's body, dipping his tongue into his brother's mouth and tasting his own come.

“I'm gonna lick you clean so you don't have to get up,” Thor whispers, and Loki's whines softly as his body jerks. “See if you can use your orgasm to get to sleep.”

Loki nods and tugs Thor in for more kisses.

Thor's fingers cup and caress Loki's balls before wrapping around his cock and sliding his foreskin up and down, squeezing and teasing it. His thumb swings up to catch the slippery drops that leak from the slit, smearing them across the smooth head of Loki's prick. The flesh bobs in Thor's grip and Thor strokes harder. He wants to bring Loki close by hand so that Loki doesn't get too messy from the blowjob, hoping Loki will be comfortable enough to fall asleep immediately afterward. Thor's fist works in a quick tight rhythm until Loki's hips start to shift. Then Thor backs down the bed, licks his lips, and slides them down the length of Loki's aching prick.

It's just like the first time they did this.

Thor's lips brush fur and his mouth fills with semen.

Thor swallows and then gently laps at the stray drops he can see glistening on Loki's skin in the faint light from the window. Then he pulls the blankets up around them and tucks their bodies in for the night.

“Wake me up if you can't sleep,” Thor murmurs. “I don't have to do anything tomorrow.”

“M'kay,” Loki mumbles, and Thor kisses him.

“It's eleven,” Loki says, when Thor wakes.

“How long have you been up?” Thor croaks.

“About three minutes,” Loki says, and Thor can see that it's true. Loki's face is pillow-creased, so he's been holding still. There's drool on his cheek and sleep in the corners of his eyes.

Thor smiles. They've slept less than seven hours, but he suspects that's a big improvement for his brother.

They snuggle for a minute but then Abe makes an impatient sound.

Thor sighs and tips his head up.

“So, they're in love now?” Thor asks, seeing the cat and the turkey cuddling on the chair.

“Abe is irresistible, Thor.”

“Clearly,” Thor snorts, and Loki kicks him.

“He's also hungry.”

Thor nods and they tug their pajamas back on.

Snape runs down to his bowl. Loki scoops up his turkey and carries him to the kitchen.

Thor rolls his eyes and shakes with laughter when he sees how much cornbread Loki gives to their already-spoiled-rotten pets.

After omelets, Thor turns on his laptop and Loki frowns.

“I thought you had today off.”

“I'm not working - I'm shopping. You want anything from Amazon?”

“Yeah,” Loki says. “A car charger for your fucking phone.”

Thor snorts, but adds it to the cart.

“Anything else?”

Loki shrugs.

“What are you getting?” Loki asks, coming over and sitting on Thor's thigh.

“I'm getting us snowshoes. And a light therapy box to put at your desk.”

Loki smiles.

They spend the rest of the day wrapping presents for their parents and rolling around in bed.

They're free to shift their schedules, so they do.

They get up at dawn every day and go out snowshoeing for at least an hour. Sometimes two.

Loki sees tracks in the snow and it eases his mind - signs of life in spite of everything.

Then the brothers cook breakfast together and talk about what they're going to do that day. They often find ways to streamline each other's tasks, and even when they don't, laying it out in words makes it easier for them to focus when they get to their desks.

Loki spends two hours with his light box glowing at him from beside his laptop.

Then he makes himself stretch for ten minutes, paying close attention to his fingers and wrists.

An hour later he heads downstairs for lunch, though he doesn't care about the food. His brother comes in and they spend at least fifteen minutes kissing and cuddling on the couch before they make sandwiches and twine their legs together beneath the table.

They can work until eight if they need to. Then a very light dinner, thirty minutes of weight lifting, showers, and some sort of lovemaking until they're sleepy.

Sometimes they just hold each other and talk about the books they read over the weekend. Sometimes they talk about the things they want to do to the beautiful bodies in their arms. Sometimes they do what they've said they'd like to.

Thor loves to give Loki massages, because having Loki's muscles go limp beneath his fingers makes Thor feel like he's winning some weird war against Loki's worries.

But mostly it's blowjobs, raw and open and perfect, with their tastes on each other's tongues.

When spring comes and the snow begins to melt away, Loki finds himself casting sad glances at the exposed grass and missing the winter for the first time in his life.

But then he pictures his brother swimming naked in their stream at sunset, and he decides that his snowshoes will keep until December.

 

**Author's Note:**

> please don't comment or repost.


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